Piercing the veil
by SaidbhinLuch
Summary: With the possible return of James Moriarty, Molly can't help but think the life she promised to leave behind at age eighteen may be rearing it's ugly head. With no help for her in England, she has to outsource this problem to a couple of men in America. Unfortunately, this what not her sole problem, how was she to keep her friends safe, without letting the truth come out?
1. Chapter 1

Molly stared at the screen, hands falling to her side completely taken aback.

"_Did you miss me? Did you miss me?" _Kept ringing out of the speakers, the image oddly distorted, she glanced round before peering down at the screen, trying to determine if it was real. She could hear the murmurs of people down the corridors no doubt panicking or doing what she was doing at that moment.

Well not exactly, she thought as she sprinted over to her desk and ripped her paper filing apart. They were gone, they were all done, her notes, the reports, all of it.

And now, now Sherlock was gone too.

Naturally, he didn't actually tell her in so many words but the brief message he'd left on her mobile thanking her for everything spoke volumes.

All the files on Jim Moriarty had been taken from her office. As she went to move her filing cabinets a foul smell caught her attention, she froze for a moment before reaching down to the ground and looking behind the one nearest the door. There it was, a trace of yellow powder trailing down the wall.

_Shit._

She locked her door and went to the emergency safe she had hidden in her office years ago. Molly pulled back her hair, tugging at it looking at the contents of the safe. Emergency burner phone, rock salt, a couple of guns and a variety of knives, as well as the copious amounts of fake id's and ripped off credit cards.

Greg would have a field day.

She snagged the phone, slamming shut the safe hiding it behind the false wall she'd put in, tightening her jaw.

Molly Hooper, hunter. A life she thought she'd managed to ditch at age 18, for the most part.

* * *

It started for her when she was 6, Molly woke up on a pretty average Saturday morning to find her neighbour leaning over her, knife held to her throat, eyes pitch black and drenched in blood.

The next fifteen minutes were something that Molly spent every day trying to erase from her memory.

Screaming, running for her life, the slice of the blade up her back that had left a jagged scar from what was now the swell of her hips to her scapula, her mother's dead body ripped apart in her parent's bedroom and her father killing the neighbour.

After that, she and her Dad spent the next 12 years trawling all over Ireland and England, a few other European countries killing and exorcising any and all the supernatural scum they could find. Until 18. Then she had to build a whole new life, the life she should have had for herself all along, she had been free.

Molly stepped out onto the roof, jamming the door shut behind her as she stared down at the burner phone desperately clawing for any reason to not call the number. Her usual phone dinged loudly, causing her to just about jump out of her skin. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out, expecting a message from John or possibly Mary.

_221B. Immediately. Details will follow. –SH._

Well that was a swift turnaround.

Molly texted him back saying that she'd get there as soon as possible and not to try sending anyone to get her. He knew full well that Billy was already on her side, as well as Anthea, though he had yet to figure out how that had happened.

She flipped open the burner phone and hit the sole number stored on it. She stood near the fire exit as it rang out, eyes trained on the spot where Moriarty had died, supposedly at the very least.

'Hello?' A low gravelly male voice greeted her eventually, American, but not the slightly country accent she was expecting. Suspicious of her, but given the nature of their work, that was more than understandable.

'Bobby Singer?'

'No. Who is this?' The voice came through an octave lower than before, decidedly more suspicious of her now. She could hear clattering in the background, someone else seemed to have come storming into the room, another man she guessed, but with only the barest hint of a voice reaching her ear she couldn't be sure.

'I'm Molly Hooper, and I need to get through to Bobby Singer as soon as possible. He owed my Dad a favour and now I'm calling him on it.'

'Well lady you are bang outta luck, Bobby died two years ago, how about you ask someone else for help?' A different voice, the other person in the room most likely had grabbed the phone from his partner. Her stomach dropped at the new voice and tone, causing her to gulp, but his indignation, riled her own.

'Look, buddy, I'm sorry to hear about Bobby, I am really. I met him once, and he seemed like a really great hunter, but I have a situation here that is potentially _explosive_ on a whole new level, so how about you cut the drama routine? It's not going to faze me. Also it's Doctor, although I am a lady. Can I please talk to whoever answered the phone?' The sounds of a scuffle came over the line, Molly actually pulled the phone away from her ear and looked down at it in concern.

_These were American hunters?_

God damn her father for burning any bridge she might have been able to use.

'Sorry ignore him, he's just a bit off lately. Molly was it?'

'Yes, and you are?'

'Sam, Sam Winchester.'

'As in John Winchester?'

'Yeees.'

'Oh. Didn't know he had kids that were alive. Oh god sorry, that, sorry today has been a bit of shock for me. Is there any chance that you'd be in London in the next few weeks?'

'Okay, no, don't think there is, why?'

'Go to the internet and look up James Moriarty. He died two years ago, a friend of mine was there when he shot himself, I, myself, did his autopsy, but somehow, less than forty minutes ago, he is all over British television.'

'That's it?'

'All my files are gone, on him, his autopsy, everything, and I found sulphur. Classic signs.'

'Why did you call looking for Bobby? You sound like you know what you're doing, surely you could handle it.'

'I got out of the life years ago. I had to, my Dad died making me promise to quit and he ensured that no hunter this side of the Atlantic would help me. If this is what I think it is, it's huge. Bigger then almost anything else, I am not ashamed to say I need help. You have this number now, text me your email, and I will send you everything I have and will dig up in the meantime. Decide for yourselves if you want to take the case, Bobby may have owed my father, neither you nor your partner do. I will check back by 9 tomorrow night, London time, I have a few things I need to get done. If you do want to help me, I'll cover the cost of your flights, everything.'

'We'll think about it.'

'Thank you. I'm sorry but I have to go, there are people I need to watch out for if this is what I am 99.9% sure it is. Thank you Sam, it's greatly appreciated.'

'I'll keep the line open for you.'

She hung up, closing the phone and taking a moment to compose herself. She had to get to 221B and act like she wasn't planning on investigating the case. She had to keep Sherlock and John out of this, they didn't know about the life, they couldn't know. It was far too much, too big, too dangerous, they were both far too reckless and impulsive when it came to this.

Maybe she should have become an actress and not a pathologist, Molly, was discovering that she was a far better liar then she had ever thought she could be.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly entered the small flat, tucking her hair behind her ear and looked awkwardly around the room. Mary and John were sitting side by side on the couch, both tense but determined Mrs. Hudson was sitting on the wooden chair by the table, pale and worried. Greg stood at the other end of the couch, staring out into the street so she couldn't make out his face.

'Ah Molly.' Sherlock greeted her from his chair as though less than an hour ago he'd hadn't been about to vanish into the ether forever. She glanced around and looked puzzled as he indicated for her to sit, but the only chair free was John's. Even Mycroft looked slightly perplexed by this action, as she sat down she had to do her best to disguise the fact that she was carrying. Luckily, John's chair's significance seemed to disguise her deceit, as everyone's swivelled from it to Sherlock, John and to Molly and back again.

'What's the plan?' Greg, the first to summon his voice, looked towards Mycroft who was now examining Molly closely, fingers lightly tapping Billy.

'First of all, Molly moves into 221B. Then we will start investigating the case. Security measures will be put into place, courtesy of Mycroft.' Sherlock may have continued to speak, but her annoyance drowned him out. Her jaw clenched, hand twitching towards her gun. The only person who noticed, or seemed to at least, was Mary, the way her eyes tracked her, Molly could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

_Huh._

'Molly will not.' Greg's eyebrows shot to his hairline, John barely whispered an "_Oh boy"_ and Mrs. Hudson's hands just fluttered lightly off the table. Sherlock looked at her, head tilted to the side, looking a little flummoxed by her reaction. She reclined in the chair, crossing her legs at the knee and staring at him passively. They mirrored each other as they narrowed their eyes, eyebrows arching and glared at one another.

'Excuse me?' Sherlock's lips tightened slightly and he leaned forward a ripple running through his facial muscles. She simply bounced her foot, hands daintily clasped on her knee.

'I won't do as I'm _ordered_ Sherlock.'

'It's for your own safety.'

'I don't see you ordering anyone else about.' Mrs. Hudson looked between the pair, eyes widening as she got up slowly, chair squeaking loudly. She pottered into the kitchen, no doubt about to make tea for everyone.

'I. I feel that is necessary. For you, to remain safe.' Molly examined him closely, eyebrows knitting together as she noticed him swallow.

'Well I am not someone you can boss around, Sherlock. And don't try manipulation I might just slap you again. I can defend myself, you know that.'

'I need to ensure it.'

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head and trying not react, there was a part of her, one she thought was long gone was telling her to crush him. Verbally, not physically, Molly always played it smart. It was amazing that Sherlock had the ability to shatter her self-confidence so completely, when she was more than adapt at it herself.

Her phone dinged loudly, Molly, took out her phone, lips tight and doing her utmost not to grind her teeth. An email from Sam Winchester. He was asking for her to contact them ahead of schedule, he may have found something, but he needed more on Moriarty and Sherlock. She also had one from Mike asking her to come in, a couple of police officers wanted to ask her about the break in.

'I have to go. Sally Donovan wants to talk to me.' She got up, skimming through the email from Sam, thinking about what she was going to tell him. Mrs. Hudson looked at her imploringly as she returned with tea and biscuits, she smiled apologetically still making towards the door but she paused at the doorway.

'Don't follow me. Billy can keep you updated on my whereabouts.' She turned back and stared Sherlock dead in the eyes. She didn't blink, she didn't waver in fact _he_ was the first to look away, nodding almost imperceptivity.

'Molly...' He sounded apologetic and for the first time it was showing in his face, she sighed in response and shrugged.

'I have to go. My Moriarty files are gone, and they are going to check that I didn't get rid of them.'

Greg nodded at her, clearly wondering if he should go with her but she just inhaled, shaking her head and staring disapprovingly at Sherlock.

'Are you sure you didn't see anything?' Sergeant Donovan gazed at her imploringly as she sat at the other side of her desk, fingers drumming on it. Molly frowned biting her lip, hair sliding forward masking her face. She pushed it back and shook her head.

'Honestly, no one had been asking about it, everyone focused on Sherlock, barely a thought to Moriarty. They would've had to take their time looking for them.'

'Why?'

'I. I deliberately misfiled them.'

'_Why?'_ Sally's face harden, voice dropping and eyes carefully tracking her, the other officer in the room stopped his search and looked over curiously at her.

'I thought that, maybe it would help. I had to make sure that the others were safe, No one knew, everyone just...' Molly started breathing heavily, remembering how worried she had been when Sherlock told her the risks of their plan not working. For two years, she held three lives in her hands and had nowhere to turn.

'Left you alone after The Fall.' She finished, jaw moving to the right and leaning back, staring at her with her head tilted back. Sally's eyes swept up and down the room, trying to hide the look of disdain as she spied the picture of all of them at 221B at Sherlock's return party. Molly glanced up at it, glad that Tom was the one who took it, she already had the reminder of one over-bearing, needy guy in her life, the last thing she needed was another one.

'Okay, we probably will call again. If you think of anything, please don't hesitate to call.' Sally stood up nodding, and smiling tightly and both officers left the room. She got up, waving the both off, before turning and closing the door behind her. Molly leaned up against it, locking it blindly as her phone began to ring.

'Yeah.'

'Ah is this Molly?'

'Yes, yes of course, I apologise Sam, just got a lot going on here.' Molly pinched the bridge of her nose shutting the blinds on her windows and leaning against the desk.

'Understandable. I know we said we'd wait for you to call back, but I'm ignoring Dean. He doesn't trust you.'

'Dean... brother I'm guessing? And I can't say that I blame him, but thank you for getting back to me.'

'No problem. I just, I have this feeling y'know.'

'About my case? That sinking feeling in your gut that you just can't shake? Yeah, luckily I'm in a situation where everyone expects me to feeling that.'

'They don't know.'

'About my past, gods no. The past is the past,at least that's what I've tried to live since then. What about the case got you interested? I thought you were just trying to appease a slightly paranoid woman.'

'You mentioned something about a Crow in one of the emails?' She sat down in her chair, both elbows resting on her knees as she spoke to Sam.

'Ahh yeah, in the two years Sherlock was dismantling the network, it was something that kept being mentioned. I don't think he figured out what it meant or... he didn't give it much credence.'

'Hm.'

'I thought it strange something about it just didn't sit right with me.'

'You have good instincts. I think it might be linked to a demon we know.'

'A _demon_ you _know_. As in a _continuing relationship?_' Molly gaped into the empty room, biting back on the curses about to roll off of it.

'The world has changed.'

'_Clearly_. Who's the demon?' She blinked, closing her eyes and coughing slightly, Sam shifted on the other side. Molly really had to wonder about these American hunters, everything seemed backwards with them.

'Crowley.'

'Name seems familiar. I'll have to go through my Dad's notes.'

'If this does trace to him... I'm taking the case.'

'What about _Dean?'_

'I can convince him.'

'Good luck with that.' Molly stilled and stood up, hand automatically reaching towards her gun, stepping to the left of the door.

'_I have to go, I will contact you later.'_ She whispered before cutting him off and slipping her phone into her back pocket. As the lock began to twitch she stood parallel to the door, raising the gun to her shoulder, wrapping her left hand around it.

'A gun, Really Molly?' Sherlock turned and narrowed his eyes at her, Molly scowled taking a beat longer than was necessary to lower the gun.

'You can never be too careful.' She spat out sarcastically walking back around her desk and putting the gun back into the back of her pants. Sherlock sat down as she gathered up her notes from her days work, and watched her closely.

'Have you even fired a gun before?' He asked resting his feet on her desk, to which she responded by batting him off. As she sat down on the desk, next to where his legs used to be, she pursed her lips.

'Can't you _deduce_ that?'

'You're still angry at me.'

'For a genius, you really do like stating the obvious.'

'I explained why I did it.'

'And that makes it okay? Let's see, I spend _years_ doing whatever you asked, because _I'm a freaking idiot_, I _save_ your life, I lie my _ass_ off for TWO FUCKING YEARS to _all_ of our friends, and then you toss it down the drain for a case.'

'I didn't-'

'You could've _died_ Sherlock. One slip of the needle, air embolism, one bad batch and you are bleeding out your eyeballs, gangrene, how many other possible consequences are there? Too many. _This_ is how you thank me?'

She sighed again, head dropping forward, and she stared down at her shoes, her vision blurring for a moment. Molly cleared her throat and even though her hair blocked most of her face, she didn't blink the tears back. Years of pretending to be a normal woman had made her into the closest thing to it, she could be. However, when she was a hunter, she used her sweet innocent features to manipulate. So, she looked directly at him, tears still shining in her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but words failed him.

She moved to the other side of the desk, picking up the picture of the six of them, smiling at it sadly.

'I thought, I thought that we were friends, I know you can be an absolute asshole, but... you, you. I don't even have the words for it.'

'You certainly have the actions though.' It took her a minute of gaping at him before she started giggling.

'I'm mad I can't stay _mad_ at you.' She huffed, some strands of hair flying upwards and Sherlock started chuckling at her reaction.

'And you somehow manage to get me to act almost like an actual human being. A feat neither my mother nor John have managed.'

'Are those the reasons you won't move in to 221B?'

'Some of them. It's mostly because I can't. I can't do it Sherlock, there are things even you don't know about me and I rather it stay that way. Also there is the fact that I resent the implication that I can't defend myself.'

'Shooting range does not equal any practical skill set.'

'My Dad took me hunting as a kid. Sharp shooter. I also have training in a variety of martial arts and other means of self defence. Don't take me for a fool Sherlock, we both know better.'

'I never saw that.' Molly smiled softly at him as he stared at her, eyes lost and confused.

'Did you even bother looking?'

* * *

One wall of Molly's spare bedroom was now covered in Moriarty's history as well as any demon connections she could figure out. She climbed on the bed and pin the work _"Crow?"_ to the centre.

Surely Crow being Crowley was too obvious.

Crowley being the King of Hell, he'd have to be savvier than that? A play on his own name?

_No._

Though it would match the hubris of demons.

Man, she was rusty.

But there was also Moran. Mycroft and Sherlock hadn't managed to track him down, so he was a possibility.

The hours ticked on, Molly even passed out on the spare bed, and she woke at around six, finally understanding why Sherlock took over her room.

That bed was absolute hell for someone's back and neck. She kneeled on the bed yawning and staring wide eyed at the extent of her theories. Three walls were plastered with possibilities and probable and not so probable ties.

Then her laptop pinged loudly behind her, and suddenly two men's faces appeared in a video link pop up on her screen. The three stared at one another for a minute, Molly's exhaustion over the past couple of days causing her to forget that she wasn't wearing very much. A pair of shorts and a torn tank top.

The one with the longer hair slapped the other round the back of the head as the other one gawked at her as she turned and scooted towards the end of the bed.

'Ahhh... sorry, I've been working. Sam, Dean?' She looked at the non-gawking one first and then nodded at the other giving him a strange look.

'Yes, I'm Sam, the drooling one is Dean.' Sam, the one with the longer hair, and judging by the height difference in the way they were sitting he was quite a bit taller than his brother. Dean, well, even with the grumpy look on his face was alarming pretty.

Actually both men were alarmingly hot.

_Not what she was expecting_.

'We're taking the case.' Sam smiled, nodding and grabbing a tablet and flicking through it for something. Molly sat down in front of the desk, pulling on an old college hoodie and rubbing the back of her neck. Dean's eyes were slits as he tried to make out her demon map causing her to roll her eyes.

'Unless you have 100/100 vision dear, that's not going to happen. I'm glad you're helping, I am waaaay out of practice. The crow thing, there is something I'm missing and it is driving me _nuts_.'

'One question Hooper...' As attractive as he may be, the pinched look was not one he should really be sporting often, or at all.

'Am I really a Doctor?' She tried as his question trailed off, Sam whose head was bent over his table, puffed up his cheeks, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, moved an inch to the left.

'Are you really gonna pay for our flights and stuff?'

'That's the big question? Really?'

Okay, these were the big bad Winchester brothers? The Hunters that brought the worst of the worst demons and other supernatural creatures, to their knees?

Molly had a feeling this was going to be trickier then she'd first envisioned.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly lay down on her bad, resting on her forearms, watching the Moriarty video as it was projected onto her sole empty wall. She slowed it down, video on mute and squinted. She slid off the bed and shoved her glasses up her nose as she stood right in front of the projection. As evil as the man was, she had to admit, he did have rather excellent taste in suits.

_This_ was she was noticing, case related clues, she was not.

A sound caused her ears to twitch and she stilled before jumping up to turn off the projector and to roll up her notes and tuck them into some of the drawers. She turned to the wall above her bed, climbing onto it and closing the artsy wooden case, that so happened to make a very handy hiding spot for key hunter notes.

As she stepped out of the room leaving the door open, no one really goes prying in a room that was _carelessly_ left open after all, and wandered into her kitchen to see Sherlock trying to shimmy his way in. She sat down on the table, skirt slithering up her legs as the man in question struggled to get in.

'Why didn't you open the window fully?' Molly asked the question as cutely as she could manage, swinging her legs to and fro.

'Someone _may_ have painted it shut.' A lesser person would have sworn up and down that he grunted it out as he wiggled his way in.

'Oh that's unfortunate.' He crashed to the floor, yet managing to roll and sit up, barely wrinkled.

'Very.' One eyebrow quirked upwards, as he stood up, taking off the belstaff and smoothing down his jacket. He made to walk past her but her swinging legs seemed to stop that. He puffed up slightly, Molly had to marvel over the fact that his shirt was managing to stay on. How was it that his shirts managed to defy the strain being put on them and she couldn't get trousers with pockets that could fit more than a packet of gum?

In order to get past her, he actually had to stop her legs with his hands, getting right up into her space. He walked slowly around her living room, criticising her possessions no doubt. Molly spun round on the table, watching him as he paused stilling and looking around at her bland smile.

'You do of course realise that breaking into a woman's apartment is not a way to win her over? In fact it's a sure fire way to get kneed.'

Sherlock turned looking at her wonderingly, he was unsure as to whether she was trying to get him out. It was amazing how slow the genius could be.

'The door is thataways, you can go now.' She gestured over at the door, though she was acting pissed, she really wasn't that mad anymore. However, she needed him out of her house before he noticed something was off about how she was acting.

'You really want me to leave?'

'I really don't know how to make it simpler.' In truth as Sherlock watched her, not stepping into her personal bubble as he usually did, she wondered if he had actually bought it.

He ducked his head in what she had to assume was a bow of sorts and he walked out the door. She slid of the table and walked into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Truthfully, Sam was due to check in any minute and she need Sherlock _out._

She could hear the door quietly behind her, the soft click causing her head to drop back hitting the door behind her.

_Shit._

'Molly?'

'Sam. Hi.'

* * *

Two hours later Sam was hitting his head off of the table in front of him, hitting a book off the back of his head. Molly was feeling exactly the same to be perfectly honest. This case was going nowhere; all they had was the trace of sulphur and the missing notes. Sam and Dean had been asking around but given they were the other side of the Atlantic, it was no surprise to her that they hadn't gotten anything helpful.

'There _has_ to be something we're missing!'

'Wish I could say I had gotten anywhere with Dad's old contacts but...'

'Didn't you say you farmed out cases?'

'Taking cases from me is not the same as helping me with one.'

'Nothing?'

'Dad was more than efficient with his salting and burning of the earth and any bridges that may have connected me to any particular land mass.' She groaned, rubbing the back of her neck and stabbing one of her many notebooks repeatedly with a pen.

She was hidden in one of Sherlock's safe houses, one of the one's his barely used. Little place in Piccadilly. Molly had to marvel at the fact that he managed to find one there, the man was nothing if not tenacious. It also had amazing WiFi, thank god for Billy.

Few tips and tricks about handling Sherlock Holmes, and some good food and Billy was hers.

'Thorough.' Sam's voice broke through her train of thought and her head drop towards her chest in aggravation.

'Damn that trait we shared.' She muttered under her breath, glaring at nothing in particular.

'So have you booked your flights yet?' Sam shook his head, rolling his before turning to something behind him and staring back at her with a rather weary expression.

'Dean's a bit weird about flying.'

'_They don't even really know how it works!'_ Molly recoiled from her screen as the other brother's face appeared looking quite, _scared._

'_You're _afraid of flying?' She tried not to sound quite so amused by this little fact, but as Dean glared at her she knew that she had failed. Of course Sam wasn't helping as he shook in suppressed laughter behind him.

'Yeah, well you're the hunter who can't hunt by herself.'

'I'm a smart woman who knows when to ask for help, so,_ you know_,the people she happens to care about _don't end up **dead**_**.** Weird I know, right?'

As Dean bristled, puffing up, _what was with men and that move_, her actual phone rang and she stared down at the screen in confusion. She was sure that he had no contact picture on her phone, so why was one of the recent shots of him in his deerstalker coming up?

_Kissass_.

She shushed Dean, mostly as she was not interesting in listening to his ramblings and answered the phone.

'Yes?' She snapped, watching as both the Winchesters blinked at each other looking at her strangely.

'No hello?'

'You dislike pleasantries, why are you calling?'

'John's rather insistent that I make amends.'

'But you don't want to?'

'I do, but I-'

_'What the hell is she doing? Molly!' _She made a claw with her right hand and glared at Dean who just glared back at her.

'Who is that Molly? It's not a voice I recognise.'

'Because you've never met him. And if you so much as hint at "rebound", know the next body part I "lend" you will be _yours_.' Again both boys looked baffled and looked awkward as they listened to the argument taking place on her side of the video link. Sherlock was huffing on the other end, and Molly bounced the phone off her forehead before turning away from her laptop.

'You need to back off Sherlock, I am mad, and hounding me isn't going to make it better, I'm not John.'

'Who is he?' The tone in his voice was not something would associate with him and _her_. She had to be imagining what she heard. Yeah, most definitely.

_'Honestly, he's such a pretty boy, how can he be so brilliant?'_

'Did he just call me a pretty boy?' Molly's eyes twitched as Dean rolled his eyes whilst looking at something on another laptop, probably googled Sherlock. Sherlock on the other hand, was indignant, mumbling something about throwing accusations around without decent information to back it up. And that he wasn't _pretty_, physical attractiveness was for the mentally inferior, or something. Molly wasn't paying all that much attention to what he was saying she was once again wondering how she managed to get into this situation.

She froze for a moment, hanging up on Sherlock and standing to one side of the window that was really just a hole in the wall. She pulled her M&P out and held it to her side as she peered down into the street.

Someone, a male someone, not Sherlock, or Billy was outside looking for something. She had to admit, being one of London's best pathologists had advantages for the job. Even from a distance, Molly knew that unfortunately, it was a demon and the corpse it was riding.

She went over to the laptop, muttered demon and slammed it shut. One demon, hopefully he was alone and a runt. She pulled on a long black coat, tucking a couple of blades into her boots and strapping on a bag on her leg that looked like a holster but she made into one. Joke present from Greg last year.

_If only he knew._

Time to go hunting.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly stepped out into the teeming street, buttoning her jacket up to the neck and pulling on a pair of leather gloves. She pulled down her hair and a pair of glasses, unfortunately people were noticing her more and more since Sherlock came back. A few simple items and changes to her look seemed to be working for the moment.

She paused, pretending to make a call on her phone as the demon walked past her, she turned her head, watching him over the rim of her glasses.

Bingo.

Guy _reeked _of death, a smell most missed, simply because they didn't want to notice it, but she couldn't get away from it.

She looked down at the ground giggling lightly, as the creep turned back to check behind him.

Skinny, too skinny, tatty and torn clothes and massively holed shoes. Homeless, Molly had to hope that he wasn't one of the Network. Sherlock had already caught Dean's scent, the last thing she needed was for him to catch hers.

Poor kid, about 17, a stunted 17, but judging by the clothes and shoes, not newly acquired and as she turned and casually tracked him, turning on her iPod, hands deep in her pockets, he'd probably been on the streets for at least 5 years. Burn scars on his neck, dating back that far, cigarette burns most likely. She shook her head, as she flicked up her collar, holding back a few metres. As she caught sight of herself, she glanced around wincing and smoothed it back down.

Soon enough they were walking along the River Thames, past the Globe and Molly made to head across the Millennium bridge. She stopped about of a quarter of the way over and leaned back against the railing.

She tapped her foot idly to the music, watching the demon hanging around outside the Tate. He looking anxious, not a trait that she'd ever really associated with a demon before. Suddenly he tensed, Molly tried not to freeze as well, for fear that she'd blow her cover, but the demon was looking in the opposite direction.

He walked around the side of the Tate, Molly trying to remain inconspicuous as she tracked him. Alas, she may have underestimated her trackee she mused as she was slammed into a wall.

_'What are you doing?'_

'Stumbled down the wrong alley?' She tried, suppressing the wince as she pulled away from the wall.

Luckily, he was as green as Molly thought him to be, he was too busy panicking about being caught to notice that she was lifting her leg and reaching for a knife. She sliced upwards, ripping open a serious wound from gut to clavicle, rotating as he stumbled backwards and kicking him in the gut. He groaned as she moved,ripping out something attached to the inside lining of her jacket. The pain radiating in his cest from the holy water soaked knife stopped him from noticing her attach a handcuff to the closest bin railing, but he copped as his arm was yanked up but it was too late.

'What the fu-' She slammed her hands around his wrist as fast as she could, so he would be able to get free.

'Yeah sorry about that, warded handcuffs are such a pain aren't they?' Molly shoved him backwards with her leg, sighing as she noticed the blood stains up her boots.

'Damn, I'm going to have to clean those.'

She bent down, bouncing on her the balls of her feet, pulling out her gun and tapping off of her thigh.

'I'm going to need some answers.'

'I don't know anything.'

'Oh even you lower level rats know _something_. You should have a little more faith in yourself.' She tapped him on the leg with the gun, shaking her head mockingly at him.

'Then you'll kill me, I don't see any benefit, either way I'm screwed, so I'd prefer to stick it to some chick Hunter.'

'I'm not going to kill you, the kid you've ridden to death has had enough crap in his life. I'm going to exorcise your ass.'

At this, the demon started to react, kicking out and went to yell out, but Molly gagged him. Shaking her head once more, she paused, standing up and listening to the hubbub of the city before loud clammerings of music starting ringing out.

Yeah I didn't think you'd like that option. I hear hell is all kinds of upside down and inside out. _Annnnnnnnnnnd_ I'm pretty sure that the demons who talk to Hunters are at the bottom of the food chain. Killing you? Not really punishment enough.' His eyes flashed black in rage and fear, and Molly smiled ripping the gag from his mouth.

'Hooooowever, if you agree to talk, then I'll well I'll make it easy. Deal?' Molly leaned back down, staring at the demon curiously.

'Okay! Okay!'

'Hear anything about Jim Moriarty?'

'No one knows how he did it! Someone higher up kept whatever Moriarty had quiet.'

'But he had a deal of some sort?'

'Not a crossroads one.'

'Higher up…. How much higher up?'

'Pretty high.'

'Crowley or Abbadon high?'

'One of their Lieutenants I think.'

'We're in England dear, it's _LEFT_enant. Not that. Mind the Queen's English.' The demon's jaw clenched and his eyes blackened.

'Okay we had a deal, didn't we?' Molly reached around to the back of her jeans, steadying herself on the demon. In a flash she had the handcuff of his hands, chanting an exorcism and winged him with a silenced gun. The demon roared as back off, shooting him once more in the foot with an iron round, wincing internally at what she was doing to the kids mangled corpse. Unfortunately just as she was finishing the demon managed to get a lucky shot it and gave her a long cut all her own with a knife. As he smoked out she panted against the other way, cursing and moaning in pain.

She shimmied off her jacket and stared down at her now ruined t-shirt, muttering in annoyance. Ducking behind the bin, she yanked of her shirt, inspecting her wound as best she could, not too deep, she could patch it up with only a slim chance of a faint scar. She cut the torn part of the cotton off, pulling the remains back on and taking out a roll of bandages from her holster bag.

Molly strapped herself up as best she could, wrapping the torn cotton around her to try to staunch the bleeding. Then she went about clearing up the blood that might have been hers, before leaning down and closing the kids eyes. Thank goodness she had the foresight to wear her leather gloves.

Poor kid.

She took out her new burner phone and flicked through the apps, Molly had always kept a nest egg in case she needed hunting equipment again. This phone wouldn't track back to her either, and it was a smartphone. Which was handy given its voice scrambler app, well more like voice disguise app.

She ducked round the Tate and disappeared down one of the side streets, after leaving a message with an officer down that there was a body down at the Tate.

It was the least she could do for him.

* * *

She was trying to bite down on the pain as she tried to walk normally down the street, Molly needed to hurry the blood was seeping through her bandages, it was beginning to stick to her jacket, and the smell wouldn't take long to be detected. She didn't have time to be hanging around, as she headed back to her flat.

'OH GOD' The words slipped out a lot louder than Molly would have ever wanted them to, unfortunately the rolling of her stomach caused by the pain, ensured that wasn't happening.

'Molly?'

Oh shit. Molly slowly turned round to see a heavily pregnant Mary Watson standing behind her, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

_Fuck._

'Mary, hi.' She smiled as brightly as she could as the other woman's head tilted, movements oddly controlled. Molly kept her breathing even and measured as the blue eyes swept over her.

'Are you alright?'

'Self-defence class got a little out of hand. Didn't realise it was that bad.'

'Well you should go take care of it.' Mary laid a gentle hand on her arm and smiled softly at her. Though all sweetness and fluff, the hairs on Molly's neck rose, something was off, now she was sure of it. But what exactly could a heavily pregnant woman be capable of?

Though it could be why John moved back in with Sherlock for a while…

'How are you?' Why she asked the question, Molly couldn't tell you, and she was kicking herself as the words came out. Though it would have been uncharacteristic if she hadn't.

'Oh good, besides having this little one kicking me up a storm and Sherlock trying to get us to call her Sherlock. What sort of name is that for a child anyway?'

'It's not even his given name. He's actually William.'

'How did you-'

'Helped fake his death remember? Birth certificate is a necessary part of that.'

'Oh you're very _good.' _ It was eerie how at times, Mary would sound so much like Sherlock... And it wasn't from being his friend either, ti was more like they were made of similar stuff... She couldn't be a sociopath though... Could she?

'I suppose I might be. I better go, I think I need some ice and a big glass of wine.' Molly tried to laugh it off, however the hairs on her neck will still sky high, Mary was watching, _deducing_, she had to play it right.

'And some ice cream I would wager?'

'And waste what good I just did? Yes. That is needed.' Both women laughed lightly before heading their separate ways.

* * *

The moment Molly stepped foot onto the stairs to her flat, she knew that something was off, very off. The gun was once more in her hand kept in line with her other as she unlocked the door slowly, back pressed up against it.

'Oh for fucks sake Sherlock.' She stopped, hitting one of the walls, side screaming in pain now as she looked around her empty flat.

And she meant _empty_.

Not a thing left in her flat, except Toby. Of course the bastard left Toby behind.

She picked him up and knocked on the door of Mrs. Moran next door.

'Hi sorry, do you mind taking Toby for a while? Something's after coming up…'

'Oh of course dear, he's a delight.' As Mrs. Moran hugged the cat, uncomfortably close to her chest, she could feel her cat want to kill her. _Don't blame Tob's. It's all Sherlock's fault._

'Thanks.'

* * *

For once Molly seemed to have caught Sherlock off guard as she kicked the door open, breathing heavily. Her stuff was gone, her side was killing her, she had to leave her cat with her nutty neighbour and now she was dealing with Holmesian antics.

Fuck it to all hell.

_'Fix it.'_ She hissed, not giving him a moment to respond as she spun round and stormed off, door to both the living room and 221B cracking slightly as she slammed them shut behind me.

* * *

She staggered into her newly acquired safe house, with a lifted first aid kit and a bottle of 60 proof vodka.

She sat down on the table, ripping of the jacket and shirt and opening the first aid kit. She took a shot of vodka before pouring the vodka down the cut, luckily she was biting down on a leather belt, one she pinched from Sherlock. Then she bandaged herself up, fortunately it wasn't deep enough to need stitches, but man did it sting like hell.

She jumped grabbing a knife and spinning around as a whistle echoed in the room.

'If that pretty boy hasn't jumped you, I sure will.'

'_Dean!_'

Molly turned and pulled on a hoodie as she turned around and crossed her arms. The man in question was smirking at her deviously, eyes roaming over her, not observing the bristling and jaw clench.

'If I was there, I'd be handing you your ass right now. Say something like that about me or anyone else, _I'll make sure you don't have **any** fun.'_

As Molly smiled cutely at the screen, Sam was chuckling in the background giving her a thumbs up as Dean visibly whitened, holding his hands up in an attempt to pacify her.

'So what tickets am I booking?' She asked as she sat down, grimacing and taking another shot of vodka.

'How about a boat?'

'You own a boat?'

'Dean we're not getting a boat to England.' Both boys ignored Molly's attempt at humour and opted for glaring at one another. Molly thought about the ferry option, shaking her head slowly.

'I am not paying for a ferry. Right. Wednesday, six thirty flight, JFK.' She opened a window and found the cheapest flights that she could get at such short notice. She looked up smiling as she hit the return button in a melodramatic fashion as Dean looked aghast.

'But-'

'Sorry I gotta go take a million pain killers. Good night gentlemen.' Molly grinned waggling her fingers as she closed the laptop slowly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry about the delay with this chapter! I have been crazy busy! Enjoy!**

* * *

Two days later, Molly cut was healing well, but she still had to be careful, any sudden movement was still causing it to bleed slightly.

Her hunter map was now sprawling over the ceiling of her spare room, hunter room, as she now referring to it as. While getting the stuff up there had been painful, it was a lot easier to examine without her having to scramble to hide everything. Greg and John had started to follow Sherlock's habit in popping in unexpectedly, no doubt making sure hadn't disappeared or been murdered.

Cheery.

She also got the feeling that Mary had been asking John questions about Molly; John was a lot more inquisitive about her and her past as of late.

While she could definitely argue that it was John realising how important she was to Sherlock and kicking himself for not seeing it sooner, the slight bamboozlement to the questions lead to believe that she who was pulling the strings. Molly sighed, rubbing her temples, closing her eyes trying to clear her mind of the clutter.

The Winchesters were going to be in London tomorrow and there was nothing new to add other then Moriarty had worked a deal of some sort.

Not a cross roads one, not his style, _Westwood_ after all.

She sat up slowly, trying to keep from pulling her wound and shimmying off the bed. Toby wound through her legs as she padded into her kitchen. The sunlight, a rarity in London, streamed in through her living room window and into her small kitchen and she stood facing into it.

Her eyes closed as she relished in the heat for a moment, but that moment ended quickly. Molly sneezed loudly, stilling as a ruffle noise from her front door. She looked at it moving to it carefully, as silently as she could and picked up her gun from behind the books on her bookcase. Molly held it at her side, hiding it with her leg as she opened the door using it as her shield.

All that was awaiting her was a tall thin black box wrapped in a dark purple ribbon was leaning against the door. Toby's meowed loudly from her feet; Molly had to put on a happy little smile as she leaned down to pick up the package given that Mrs. Moran was now watching her through a slightly open door.

She carried it in, ushering Toby in gently with her foot and grabbing her Harry Potter mug for a large cup of tea.

A quiet knock came from the door, slow and measured, definitely not Sherlock, he would've just broken in a new and unexpected manner, John's knock was always more shorter and more abrupt. So, that meant Greg.

'Hey.'

Greg blinked a couple of times as she opened the door, taken aback by her lack of surprise and the fact the mug that had become his over the past few years was already by the kettle.

'I always forget how good you are at that.' He sat down opposite her, giving the package a curious look, but shaking his head and focusing back on Molly.

'What?' She placed the tea bags in the cups and placing them on the table, turning get milk and sugar.

'Figuring people out, deductions all your own.'

'I don't see everything.'

'You see what's important. You're the only one who can figure Sherlock out, well except for his brother.'

'And even Mycroft misses what's important.' Greg continued thoughtfully, eyes narrowed and examining Molly, who simply rolled her eyes.

'Neither of them sees it as important.' She pointed out, running her finger around the rim of her mug.

'Sherlock is beginning to.'

'I suppose he is. Who would have thought that would happen?'

'We knew him back in the rough days.'

'I mentioned the wardrobe incident. Nothing.' She made a cutting gesture wither her hand, laughing slightly at the memory of Sherlock's face when she mentioned it in the lab.

'He doesn't remember?' Greg choked on his tea and opened his mouth in amazement. While he was used to Sherlock forgetting his name, on purpose, he frequently told her that Sherlock never seemed to forget anything in relation to her. Something Molly doubted to her very core.

'Either he really managed to delete it, or he was so high he can't remember.'

'You should sell that story to the papers. Far more entertaining than Janine's stuff.' Even as he said it Greg looked like he desperately wanted to take back what he just said. Which intrigued Molly to no end.

'Oh. So you've met her?' Her head tilted as she smiled lightly, watching Greg cough awkwardly, ruffling his hair.

'Yeah, and?' Oh defensive. Interesting.

'Oh wow. You like her.'

'No.' His answer was far too quick, his eyes too wide and his hand clenched around his mug. Honestly, it was too easy to figure him out.

'Greg really? You have no poker face! So cute! At least you'll know Sherlock will give next to no fucks about it.'

'She's, interesting.'

'Devious.'

'Interesting.'

'Ahhh. _Hot.'_

'Fine. Yes. I hate you sometimes Hooper.'

'Because when I figure things out you can't get angry?'

'You do it in such a nice way!'

'How awful of me; to not shove my observations in your face to bolster my ego!'

'Yes, bang on. It is a pain. I have no justifiable reason to dislike you, or even get a little annoyed.'

'Because I'm so nice?'

'Yeah, you lied your _ass off_ for _two years_ and I can't get mad at you.'

'I do feel awful about that. As I should.'

'Yeah and I can never play poker with you.'

'I'd beat your pants off.'

'You would.'

'Easy pickings.'

'Now what is in the box?' Both turned to look at the black box that was sitting idly on her kitchen table now, purple ribbon gleaming in the last lingering streams on sunlight.

'I'm sure it's from Sherlock.'

'What makes you say that?'

'Just a feeling.'

'Open it and see.'

Molly glared at the DI, then heaving a melodramatic breath she reached over and pulled the package to her. Pulling off the ribbon with a flourish she opened it, and recoiled in horror as a blood soaked whip fell out of the _present_.

'Not from Sherlock then.'

'No. Best call him though.'

'Already on it. Greg stood up as Molly moved the mugs of tea to the sink and went to grab Toby before he could damage the evidence.

As she walked back in to the kitchen after locking Toby in her room, Greg talking quietly and urgently on the phone Molly went to inspect the whip and the box.

About litre on the whip and remaining in the box, she'd guess, odd that the decorative box, with a familiar velvet pattern could retain the fluid without any sign of leakage. If the blood was from one person, they could still easily be alive, if this was the only evidence of the injuries.

She peered over it, trying to place the pattern and the significance of the whip. If it had been sent to Sherlock, Molly would be sure it was linked to that Irene Alder, but to her?

It made no sense.

Then she noticed flash of white at the bottom of the box, carefully placed in a small space between the box and the wrapping. Molly as sneakily as she could; moved her hand towards the bag on the counter and pulled out a tweezers, then being careful not to attract Greg's attention, pulled it out and on seeing the insignia on the paper, shoved in her back pocket.

'Sherlock, John and Mary are on their way.'

'Mary?'

'Both men are insistent on keeping her close, understandable in her condition.'

Crap. Molly had to concentrate on not letting the wince explode on her face, the possibility of Mary figuring out what she was, before she could do the same...

That would be bad.

Dangerous and explosive.

'Well that's good. Maybe they can figure out what this means. My home is now a crime scene, great.' The last thing she needed was more people coming in and milling around, she'd have to hide her hunter ceiling again. God damn it, it took so much effort getting it up there in the first place with the cut on her torso.

'Can you give me five minutes Greg?' She tried to sound as freaked out as a woman should be on discovering a blood whip had been dropped to her door, and made her way to the spare room.

As fast and as quietly as she could, with care to not aggravate her chest, she tried to get everything off of her ceiling and hide it away. Molly had to scramble to get it all in the wooden case as she heard the door burst open in the other room.

Molly walked to the window, pulling out the note opening it with a shaky breath.

_Molly Hooper is a liar,_

_And Sherlock Holmes is none the wiser._

_The Hunter and the Detective are not alone,_

_The King is about to ascend the throne._

The message was connected to Sherlock but was aimed directly at her.

King?

Suddenly Molly found herself slammed into a wall, a gun shoved into her ribs; she kicked back, causing her attacked to stumble heavily. She spun round standing defensively only to find Mary facing her, gun trained on the spot in between her eyes.

'I _knew_ it.'

'I don't care what you know, who are you really?' Her voice was an ice cold hiss, eyes flashing dangerously and Molly felt her blood rise sharply.

'You already know.'

'A Hunter. You _are_ good.'

'As are you. I'm guessing _you're_ the one who shot Sherlock.'

'Yes.'

'Can't say I haven't felt that temptation. Are you going to lower that, with the three next door? We both know it's too dangerous for them to know.'

'Sherlock would either run like hell, or...' Mary gestured loosely with the gun and then tucked it into the holster hidden by her loose jacket, one hand rubbing her heavy stomach absent-mindedly.

'Run straight in. I'm on the case.' Molly tucked the note back into her jeans, rubbing her shoulder irritably.

'Don't think this means I trust you, you're a hunter, I can't trust jackshit you say.'

'And you're a spy. Which one of us can hold the moral high ground?'

The door opened and John poked his head in the door looking concerned as both women pulled on their masks. Mary's one full of worry and Molly's one of a woman trying to hide her fear, but the ducking of her head and slight tremble of the hand giving her away.

And so the game is played.

* * *

**I have to say a massive thank you to everyone who has favourited and followed as well as reviewed this story! The response has been huge and far more than I expected!**

**THANK YOU SO MUCH!**


	6. Chapter 6

'Roughly a litre of blood I'd say, the donor could easily still be alive.' Molly followed Mary back into the room, to find Sherlock leaning over the whip and blood drenched box. Mary turned and smiled sympathetically which stilled her blood, which helped her more than it hindered her act.

Odd.

Molly sat down at the kitchen eyeing the package, lip curling in distaste; Sherlock looked up at her, eyes flickering over her quickly. She looked up at a spot somewhere over his head, training her eyes on it. Greg stared at her, eyes nothing more than slits but focused back on the box. Mary stood in her living room, stroking Toby almost passively much to Molly's chagrin.

She sighed, pulling a chair over and sitting down, burrowing her face in her hands.

Who in the heck was the king?

Was Moriarty involved?

_How_ was he involved?

How did it all tie together?

She stood up waving off the looks of concern from John and Greg and headed into her bathroom. It wouldn't take long for Sherlock find the compartment in the box, so she had to act quickly. She pulled out the note, tucked it in into a slit in her bra, and stared at her reflection, arms bracing either side of the sink. All she had were questions, and no answers, as much as she adored a challenging puzzle, it needed to be a fair one.

Her Hunter phone buzzed and Molly lifted her leg uncomfortably. One handy thing about her penchant for looser trousers; was that she was able to hide her untraceable phone by strapping it to her thigh. She locked the door lowered her pants, taking out the phone and reading the message.

_Landed in Gatwick. Will be in the city centre in three hours there, thereabouts. –SW._

_You better supply me with something to knock out Dean with for the return journey though. SW._

_Just in time, I was given a very unpleasant gift this evening. It's starting. –MH._

She put the phone back as the lock began to click and rumble and pulled up her pants as fast as she could. She turned on the tap and splashed her face quickly, the door swung open and Sherlock stood there watching her.

Molly didn't turn towards him, only looking at him out of the corner of her eyes, water dripping off the end of her nose. Neither of them spoke, the only noise being the _plonk _of the water droplets onto the ceramic of the sink. Eventually she grabbed a towel and patted dry her face.

'Did you find a slip of paper? Possibly made from recycled book paper.' He asked in a rather reserved tone, eyes flickering downwards to the tiled floor.

'No, I didn't see anything of the sort with the package, why was something found?'

'Found missing. There is a slit between the wrapping and the water tight box, trace evidence leads me to believe that there was a note of some sort hidden there.'

'Maybe it was a note for the delivery person. A thank you? A threat?'

'You're very calm.'

'I'm a pathologist Sherlock, a bit of blood and a whip is hardly enough to send me screaming into the wilderness.' Molly finally turned to face him, hip leaning against the sink and folding her arms across her chest, rolling her eyes. Sherlock's eyes zoomed up, all shades of electric blue and yellow, a smirk playing about his features. He shut the door behind, locking it and standing right into her personal bubble.

This wasn't Sherlock trying to deduce her, this was Sherlock trying to get her fight or flight reactions to kick in. His arms were bracketed on either side of the sink, encasing her in his presence.

'You keep this up and people will talk Sherlock.'

'That's what they do. Why aren't you reacting normally?'

'This is normal.'

'Not for you.'

'My life is more than likely in danger, I can't be weak anymore.'

Sherlock let go which had Molly's head whipping from one side to another and up at him in confusion. His face was tight, the look not to dissimilar to his one of great sadness, but different enough for Molly not to be sure what it meant.

'You've never been weak.' The words caught both of them by surprise and before she could respond he was going in an overly dramatic whirl of the coat. Her face contorted as she heard Greg and John call out after the fleeing man. From predator to prey, she had not seen that coming.

Her heart hammering on the other hand; that was something she knew was going to happen. Why did he have to smell so damn good?

* * *

A couple of hours later, Molly was walking around the Natural History Museum, pausing at the Tyrannosaurus Rex. Little kids gushed and scampered around her as she carefully watched out for her contacts.

Late. Not something she liked, was it a power play by the two trying to establish a higher ground. They missed the point that Molly didn't need power, the false assumption the other half had it simply handed it to her.

Convoluted, but Molly Hooper was not one for an easy life.

And suddenly she felt them enter the building, her back was to them but their presence was overwhelming. She tucked her hair behind her ears and walked the up the stairs, looking at Charles Darwin.

'Fascinating man, Darwin.' Sam stood next to her, towered way over her head actually, cocking his head at the statue.

'Oh yes, did you know he ate every animal he encountered? Including drinking fluid from a tortoises bladder? He also rode them.' She told him, tilting her head in a similar manner; Dean leaned over looking at the pair with his eyes narrowed in bafflement.

'What?'

'Nothing wrong with expanding one's mind, Dean.' Sam replied, rather snarkily and Molly suddenly felt that she was in the middle of a very tense family situation.

'So, welcome to England.' She cut across the pair in order to diffuse the argument about to brew up. She noticed they were getting some looks and made to move to the massive group of tourists.

'Okay, this is not the place to talk, lady.'

'Doctor. I think I may have a tail, I thought I shook him in TopShop. Ah shit.'

'Demon?' Both boys spoke in unison as they followed her fast pace through the crowd of people.

'No. The British bloody government.'

'What?' Molly stopped and gave the brothers a look, they had spoken several times in unison in their video chats and conversations, but in person; it was just plain _weird_.

'A friend, well I say _friend_, his brother works for the government, very hush hush and well given the situation...' She rolled her hand at them but noticed Dean was squinting at her mouthing the word friend. Sam just shook his head minutely at Dean, mouth open, both pissed off and dumbfounded.

'_Frieeeeeeeeeeeeeend?'_ Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and Molly just made a tiny noise from the back of her throat and turned away.

Sam caught up with her in one stride and Dean trailed along behind, trying to work out the meaning of the exaggerated _friend_.

'Is he always like that?' She muttered under her breath to Sam curiously, ignoring Dean's own mutterings and musings behind them.

'Pretty much.' The weariness in his voice was palpable but there was an underlying warmth, one only siblings could have for one another. She heard it on rare occasion from both the Holmes brothers, despite their outward frostiness.

'Oh.'

'Yeah.' Molly looked at him, neck craning, mouth open going to start a sentence, but thought better of it and checking their tails status.

'I think we lost him, thank god for packs of tourists.' She sighed as they made if back into the city, sans the far too well dressed man behind, but was aware that she had to be vigilant for the Homeless Network.

'I didn't realise you had such powerful friends...' Sam rubbed the back of his head, glancing around him, trying to see what Molly had seen.

'Determined too. Turns out you just can't be normal if you were a Hunter.' She laughed but stopped quickly as it came out very hollowed and depressed.

'We're all freaks.' Sam muttered, not quietly enough for Molly not to catch it, seemed to mean something more than the usual hunter weirdness.

'At least we have our eyes open to the world.' She patted his arm in an attempt to be reassuring, but both of them just ended up looking at each other tiredly.

'I'm not a freak!' Sam's head just dropped as Molly stared at him in consternation, her opened and closed several times, no words springing to mind. She simply narrowed her eyes, shaking her eyes before puffing up her cheeks.

'As if my life wasn't complicated enough as it was, now I have this.' She rubbed her left temple and Dean stood right in front of her.

'_This?_ You asked for our help lady.'

'Doctor. I need people who can _help_ me, not _hinder _me. Now back off, there are people who know who I am, I do not need my friends finding out about my new American friends.'

'You say American like it's a bad thing.' Dean stood back, and came very close to pouting at her words. All the same, God and country. Molly was now rolling her eyes internally and damning her father for forcing her into this situation. British hunters would have been _so _much easier.

'It's not like you guys have the best reputation.' She shrugged as they turned towards Piccadilly and the safe house.

'You have a bad reputation.' Dean went to cross his arms, but dropped them and moved to cross them once more. Sam looked at those he was ranting mentally so as to avoid strangling his little brother and Molly's face just slackened.

'Oh stellar wit Mister Wilde.' She retorted, once she had recovered from his pathetic put down and just stormed ahead. This is not what she had signed up for. She could only hope, pray and dream that this case either was solved quickly, or killed her quicker.


End file.
